


His First Shot (A Coast-to-Coast fic)

by SiriuslyQueer



Series: Coast-to-Coast inspired fics (character credit Lumosinlove) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Closeted Character, Coast to Coast, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hockey, M/M, Queer Character, Sweater Weather spin off, Sweater weather, hockey fic, lumosinlove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24868102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiriuslyQueer/pseuds/SiriuslyQueer
Summary: When Blizzard's injury flares up at the beginning of the Lions-Rangers game, the whole team's a little thrown, but no one more than Leo, who ends up unexpectedly thrust into his NHL debut. The Lions lose 4-0, but he carries the weight of the loss stoically, not breaking down until he's alone in his and Logan's hotel room. What he doesn't expect is for Logan to follow.This fic takes place on the same night as Sirius and Remus sleeping together in Remus’s hotel room after the Lions’ loss to the Rangers, and a couple weeks after my fic Alone in the Storm.As always, credit to Lumosinlove for creating these wonderful characters. (This is listed under Harry Potter fandom because it is based on characters by Lumosinlove in their wolfstar hockey au fics Sweater Weather and Coast to Coast. But these characters are OCs of Lumosinlove's that are not HP characters.)
Relationships: Logan Tremblay/Leo Knut
Series: Coast-to-Coast inspired fics (character credit Lumosinlove) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089896
Comments: 15
Kudos: 82





	His First Shot (A Coast-to-Coast fic)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sweater Weather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20750912) by [lumosinlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosinlove/pseuds/lumosinlove). 
  * Inspired by [Coast To Coast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24150220) by [lumosinlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosinlove/pseuds/lumosinlove). 



Leo pushes the door shut behind him and leans against it, letting his head fall back with a thump.

Their hotel room is nice, mostly cream and white and tastefully modern. Meant to feel warm and inviting, he imagines, but right now it’s just foreign and too cold from the AC. He wishes he could go home and crawl under his own musty duvet. Any other night he might care that this is the first time on the road he’s thought of Finn’s apartment, his apartment, as home.

He’d made it through a late dinner at the hotel bar with Tremzy, Harz, and some of the other guys without having to say much, mostly just picking at his food for something to do. Nado offered to order him a drink so he could stay and hang with them for a while, but the posh wood and brushed steel of their booth felt sharp and cramped, and the way the guys’ eyes turned soft when they looked at him made him want to throw something.

He wanders over to his bed by the window and plunks down on the edge, elbows on his knees and palms pressed to his head.

He’s overreacting. It was just one game. And it’s not like his were the only mistakes; Kasey limping off the ice just a few minutes into the first period shook everyone a little.

He inhales long and slow through his nose. It was just one game. Sirius had pulled him aside in the locker room after to tell him as much, though Leo barely heard him, like listening through an echo.

Just one game. Plenty of season left.

His first game.

He clenches his fingers in his hair until he feels a sharp tug in his scalp.

First game out on the ice with the Lions. First game goaltending in the NHL in front of the entire world.

And he blew it.

Jumping to his feet, Leo grabs the closest thing to him—a pillow, apparently—and hurls it at the wall as hard as he can. It hits was an unsatisfying poof and slides to the floor.

He snatches up the useless little decorative pillow and throws that too, blood thrumming in his ears. He closes his eyes but he can’t stop seeing the goals he let in.

That first goal from Kreider was super-human—an undetectable fake that he’d barely slid in behind Leo’s skate after he butterflied down onto his knees—just minutes after Blizzard left the ice. Leo’d sat there whipping his head around for the puck after the goal horn blared, so shocked Kreider got it around. He doubted Kasey could have saved it, either, but it rattled him giving up a goal so soon after taking the ice.

He made a couple decent saves, but then Talker dropped the gloves on Adam Fox in the second period. The Rangers got a power play from the resulting penalty and he missed what should have been an easy block on a slap from Panarin. 

It was like the Rangers had his number after that. He could see it in their eyes as they drove toward the crease, the crowd a pounding roar behind them. He kept his face impassive, unreadable, but with every goal or near miss his confidence sank further in his stomach.

His first game in the NHL. First chance to prove that he belongs here.

He grabs the corner of the puffy white duvet and rips it off his bed.

As if the loss couldn’t sting any more, he’d been across the ice from Hendrik Fucking Lundqvist. One of the best goalies in the league. His idol since he was fourteen, when he’d taken his coach’s advice and moved from defenseman to goalie on his junior team. And he’d let in four fucking goals while Lundqvist got a shutout.

Shame and anger rise hot in his throat and he snatches another pillow, punching it into the bed once, twice, three times, then chucks it at the window to clatter against the vinyl blinds.

Slamming his back so hard against the wall his teeth chatter, he slides down to the floor in the narrow gap between his bed, the corner, and the under-window AC unit. Hugging his knees, he presses his palms to his eyes against the warmth welling behind them.

His arms and shoulders shake as he sucks in a hard breath. Then he hears the soft scrape-click of the door opening, and his entire body goes cold.

***

“Hey Knutty,” Logan says as he shuts the door behind him. “Me and Harz were thinking of watching a movie or something if you want to—”

He stops a few strides into the room. The covers are peeled most of the way off Leo’s bed and bunched on the floor. His pillows slump against different walls, the lamp on the desk off center like it was hit by something.

It takes him a second to spot Knutty in the chaos. He’s scrunched in the corner by his bed, curled in on himself. He looks smaller than Logan would’ve thought possible for his huge frame.

Logan opens his mouth, then closes it. Did Knut do this? He must have—it’s not like there’s anyone else here—but Logan can’t quite wrap his head around it. He’s never even seen Leo flustered, let alone a full-on raging. Not when the guys chirp him in practice, no matter how many ‘nut’ jokes they all make. He just shrugs it all off. 

“Well,” Logan says, looking around at the strewn sheets and pillows again. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

He hoped the joke might force a small smile, but Leo doesn’t look up or even act like he heard him. He’s got the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, head bent low between his knees. It almost looks like he’s—

Oh.

Logan glances down at his feet. Leo’s a total goalie. Unreadable. Unshakable.

Except maybe not.

Logan clears his throat and walks the rest of the way into the room, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Makes it feel more home-y,” he says as he comes around the side of Leo’s bed. “You know, lived in. Or like a tornado rolled through.”

He’s standing right next to him now, but Leo still doesn’t look up.

Logan sighs, running a hand hard through his hair before tugging his snapback on again. He’s still fucking stubborn like a goalie.

The space between Leo’s bed and the wall can’t be wider than two feet. It’s a squeeze for Logan to sit down facing him—he can’t imagine how Leo even got down here, looking at his long legs jammed against the bed.

They’re so close their bent knees touch. Logan knocks his against Leo’s.

“Hey.”

Leo doesn’t acknowledge him other than to suck in a quavering breath.

He taps Leo’s knee with his again.

“Hey.”

“Stop.” Leo’s voice sounds gravely and wet. Something sharp tugs in Logan’s chest.

He knocks their knees together again. Leo’s shoulders bunch beneath his t-shirt as he huffs out hard through his nose. Logan thinks he might take a swing at him if they were standing. 

“Tell me what’s wrong or I’ll keep bugging you.”

“Va te faire foutre.” It comes out low and biting. A final warning.

Logan snorts.

“Non. Je ne suis pas peur de toi, Arachide.”

Leo’s head snaps up at that. Smugness swells Logan’s chest until he gets a good look at Leo’s face and his heart twists tight.

Leo’s eyes look even brighter blue this close, red-rimmed and swollen, his high cheeks smeared wet and rosy where he’s had his hands pressed to them. He’s beautiful, even crumpled like this.

He’s so collected most of the time, so stoic and mature (and freaking gigantic) that it’s easy to forget he’s a rookie. But here, now, blinking up at Logan with huge terrified eyes, breathing hard to hold back tears, he looks so _young_.

Merde, he _is_ so young. Knutty didn’t go to college first like him and Finn. He’s eighteen. Just a few months out from leaving home for the first time. And this was his first game on the ice.

Fuck.

Leo sniffs and slaps a hand across his cheeks. He looks down at his knees again, his blond lashes dark and wet.

Logan swallows.

He knows what he _wants_ to do, what his gut is practically jerking him to do.

But he doesn’t do that. Get intimate with other guys like that. Not since Finn in college.

 _Except that night on the bus two weeks ago_. Shame creeps up his neck. He’s tried (and failed) to forget it, and Leo hasn’t brought it up since they untangled themselves from each other the next morning.

But even if they’re both pretending it didn’t happen, Leo helped. He didn’t even hesitate.

Leo sniffs hard, and it’s like Logan’s body decides for him.

He scoots closer, wedging one of his legs between Leo’s so he can press their foreheads together. Leo jerks in surprise, but Logan brings a firm palm to the back of his neck, holding him there.

“Ça va,” he whispers. “Ça va, mon ami.”

Leo nods against his head but he’s still sniffling, huffing hard choked breaths between them. Logan rubs the back of his neck with his thumb, breathing long and slow to try and get Leo to match his rhythm.

“Tu vas bien, Arachide.”

***

Leo should probably be annoyed by the nickname, but between the soft earnestness in Logan’s voice and the humiliation still knocking through him he doesn’t have room inside him for any more feelings.

He let in four goals in his first game, and now he’s crying in front of Logan Tremblay. God, they should just kick him out of the league now.

“Look,” Logan says in English. “That was a shit game to have as your first.”

Leo snorts before he can stop himself. Whatever he expected Logan to say, it wasn’t _that_.

“Yeah,” he agrees through a wet, throaty laugh.

“Yeah. But listen,” Logan ducks to find his eyes, and for a second Leo can’t breathe. “You’re going to have more shit games.”

Leo’s surprised at the laugh that bursts out of him, so hard his shoulders shake as it fills him with warmth. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

He leans back a little, and Logan lets his hand drop to his shoulder. His green eyes dance in the flat hotel room light, looking relieved that he’s got Leo smiling again. Leo feels a flush creep up his neck.

“You’ll have some great games too. Fucking award-worthy saves, and you know it.” Logan smiles, but Leo bites his lip and looks down at his lap.

Because what if he never gets better? What if he’s so in his own head after this that he never makes another save, and all anyone will remember him for is that one shitty showing against the Rangers? He’ll be a fucking Lions trivia question on ESPN.

Logan shakes his shoulder a little. Leo doesn’t look up, his cheeks burning.

Logan shakes him harder, exaggerating the motion.

Leo rolls his eyes because what did he expect?

When he looks up Logan’s fighting a smirk, his eyes teasing.

“It’s okay to feel like shit about tonight, but you’re going to be fine, okay?”

Leo stares at him. How he hasn’t spent more time staring at Logan, he has no idea. His tanned skin and his dark hair curling out from under his snapback, the way he somehow looks playful and sincere at the same time—god, Leo has never wanted to kiss another person so badly in his entire life.

Logan shakes his shoulder again, so hard his whole torso moves with it.

“Okay?” He repeats, drawing out the syllables.

Leo rolls his eyes again, laughing at himself for being so ridiculous and at Logan for having no idea about the moment he just ruined. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Good.” Logan gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Now get up. _My_ knees are killing me and I’m like a half a foot shorter than you.”

Leo laughs as Logan makes a few attempts to untangle their legs before finally managing to stand. He accepts the hand Logan offers him, wincing at the stiff creak in his legs as he pulls himself upright.

He’s barely standing when a knock at the door makes them both jump.

Logan glances at the door, then back at him.

“You good with Harz being here?”

Leo considers the churning in his stomach for a second before he nods. His usual instinct when he feels like this is to pull away, but maybe having friends around isn’t so bad.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Just let me…” He rubs the back of his neck and nods to the bathroom, and Logan steps out of the way to let him by.

Leo hears him answer the door as he turns the tap. He splashes cold water on his eyes and blotchy cheeks, taking a few more deep breaths over the sink.

A sudden thought paralyzes him before he shoves it aside. Tremz and Harzy are close, but he doesn’t think Logan would tell him what happened.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Finn’s already flopped back on Logan’s bed while Logan crouches by the TV console, searching for the remote.

“S’up Knutty,” he says with a nod.

Leo nods back on the way to his bed and shrugs. “Y’know.”

Finn turns his head toward him and sighs. “Yeah, I do. But it gets easier.”

Leo settles back on his (apparently retrieved by Logan) pillows, the knot in his chest slacking a little. 

Logan emerges from the console with the remote held high.

“Okay boys, mindless rom-com or fart joke comedy?”

Leo expects him to sit on his own bed beside Harzy and jumps a little when Logan flops down next to him instead. Logan points the remote at the TV and starts logging into Finn’s Netflix account, but then he looks over, like he can feel Leo’s eyes on him.

“D’accord Arachide?” he says, clearly pleased with himself for slipping in the nickname again. And again, Leo has no idea if the hesitant affection in his eyes is teasing or real. But for now, he supposes it doesn’t really matter.

“Ouai. D’accord.” Leo does his best to keep his face neutral, but a hint of a smile must slip because Logan grins back. 

“Way, dack orde.” Finn pipes in from the other bed. “Mindless rom-com’s not going to play itself, boys.”

“Guard ta culotte Harz,” Logan says across the bed, winking at Leo as Finn rolls his eyes. Logan points the remote at the TV again, and he and Finn start bickering about which movie to watch.

Leo lets his head fall heavy on his pillow and exhales. Maybe this is home. 

**Author's Note:**

> French translations:
> 
> Va te faire foutre: Fuck off  
> Non. Je ne suis pas peur de toi, Arachide: No. I’m not scared of you, Peanut.  
> Merde: Shit  
> Ça va, ça va mon ami: It’s okay, it’s okay my friend  
> Tu vas bien, Arachide: You’re okay, Peanut  
> D’accord Arachide?: Okay Peanut?  
> Ouai: Yeah (Ouai is to oui kind of what yeah is to yes)  
> Guard ta culotte: Keep your panties on.


End file.
